


O Captain!  My Captain!

by Ripley2win



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Healing, Hurt Dean Winchester, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripley2win/pseuds/Ripley2win
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a year and Dean is still grieving for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Captain!  My Captain!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the usual disclaimer. I don't own Supernatural, just playing with it. No money being made and no copywrite infringement is intended.

O Captain! My Captain!

 

Ben didn't like his assignment to recite a Walt Whitman poem for his English class, but was smart enough to know going first tomorrow morning would put him out of his misery sooner.

"Uh, Dean. Would you read this silently as I practice this poem for my class ? Just to make sure I don't mess up the words?"

Dean nodded and accepted the leather bound book from Ben.

After clearing his throat several times, Ben's voice started clear and strong.

"O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done,  
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won."

Dean stopped breathing by the end of the first sentence. Everything, including this poem, reminded him of Sam. Dean's tears frightened Ben a little bit. He kept reading because Dean waved at him to continue.

Flashes of his life with Sam paraded through Dean's mind like a slide show. Sam as a baby the night of the fire. Sam stuffing a plastic army man in the Impala's ash tray. The two of them watching the stars far from the city lights. Sam falling into the Pit. Dean's attention had wandered and he missed a few lines in the poem.

"O the bleeding drops of red,  
Where on the deck my Captain lies,   
Fallen cold and dead."

Ben's voice continued reciting, low and soothing. Somewhere near the end of the poem, Dean was able to focus on Ben and smiled at the boy he wished really was his son. Lisa stood in the kitchen doorway watching her son recite to Dean and thanked God that Dean had finally begun to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> This poem was written by Walt Whitman in memory of the death of President Abraham Lincoln. Whitman was born in the wrong century. He advocated alot of things in the 1860's that the "Flower Power" generation 100 years later did.


End file.
